One Last Time
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: A warrior bears much, but sometime, sooner or later, it must become too much. And for Elrond's son, that time had come.


**A/N:** This is basically a what if story - what if not all the Peredhil recovered from Celebrían's departure? What if one desired the presence of a mother over the presence of a brother? It's AU, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

* * *

He was never the same after she left. It was as though a piece of his heart had sailed with her, leaving behind only emptiness and grief. It would have been better if he had been able to say goodbye, if he had been able to hold her in his arms one last time, but in rescuing her he had shed much blood, and when at last he rose from his bed, she was already gone.

Brother, sister, father, and mentor – they watched him, his empty visage, his lightless eyes. A warrior bears much, but sometime, sooner or later, it must become too much. And for Elrond's son, that time had come.

Days passed unnumbered; Imladris was silent beneath the sun and the moon. The stars were veiled, their light hidden from the grieving Elves trapped in sorrow. League upon league away, over the misty mountains cold, the sea roared in an unending song, the waves crashing upon the rocks. A white sail shone in the rising sun, and disappeared.

 _She is gone._

The fever flamed to life, burning through his body, and he moaned and called for his naneth as the ache consumed him. His brother sat by his side, pale and exhausted, for Celebrían's departure had taken it's toll on all of them. The wasted hand lay in his grasp unmoving, and the eyes, shadowed with tears and grief untold, stared blankly at the ceiling above.

Spring passed into summer, and blue skies faded to grey, and as the leaves of autumn fell, a barren bush sprang to life. Glorious roses bloomed, the crimson petals scattered blood-red upon the ground, and hope was reborn in the hearts of the Elves.

Hope for some – yet not for one it has forsaken entirely.

The door opened quietly, but Elladan did not move, and his eyes still reflected naught but the pain that ate at his heart. Elrohir looked up, his face tired and bleak, but as they lighted upon his sister, he brightened a little. One smile Arwen cast his way, and then she dropped to her knees beside the bed.

"Look, brother," she whispered softly, holding the rose before Elladan's vacant eyes. "'Tis Naneth's roses – they have bloomed at last!"

Her brother's eyes dimmed. They did not see her, and with a cry, Arwen fled the room.

Elrond wrote to Círdan that night.

* * *

The years passed unnumbered, and Middle-earth aged. The leaves budded in spring's embrace, thrived beneath the blue skies of summer, and wilted under fall's chilled caress. The Elves wearied of Arda, and of war, for Sauron's reign was mighty in the East, and the shadow from Mordor waxed and spread over the land.

Alone, weary, and sorrowing, Elrohir gazed towards the West, torn by memories of laughing grey eyes, a face like his own – a mother's embrace, and a peal of silvery laughter that brightened the day and chased shadows from their hearts.

He could not wait any longer.

He _would_ not wait.

The stars were high when at last Elrohir Peredhil took the Straight Road across the Sea, the last of Elrond's children to set sail from the greying shores of Arda. One last sail glimmered across the tossing waters, and vanished. But still Elrond waited alone, merely a shadow in the empty halls of Imladris. They had all gone before him, and he alone was left... but he was patient. He would wait.

And one day at last the wind bore tidings of the passing of the Evenstar, and the last days of the reign of Elessar fell to ruin. Eldarion ascended the throne, and there was great joy in Gondor, but no mortal's countenance bore such peace and happiness as that of the tall Elf who stood alone behind the pillars, a gentle smile curving his lips.

After that day, the Lord of Imladris was seen no more, for he took ship, and his memory passed from legend to myth. Imladris fell into ruin, protected no longer by the great Ring, and the people of Arda lived their numbered years until at last even Minas Tirith itself was abandoned, and the light of the Tower of Ecthelion crumbled to the earth.

But far across the Sea there was laughter, and a family reunited, and assurance of eternity together in peace and joy and love.

THE END


End file.
